Real
by flyinglittleflower
Summary: This is a totally MiSa story. Michael is in danger. Will his plan to make things right with Sara work?
1. Tired

Sara was tired.

Not that she had been very busy in the last days, but after the escape, after the hospital, the police, her dad, the group... she just felt like sleeping for years and waking up at a better time of her life. If there was going to be one.

At mornings, she would get up late and watch TV, trying her best to avoid the news on the "Fox River Eight", as the midia was calling that men who once were her patients. The afternoons were all destinated to the group meetings and therapy. Though she was quite aware that she needed this, it was still not the funniest thing in the world. And the nights? The nights were all Michael's.

Sara really didn't want to think about that baby blue eyed convict, but at the end of the day she would always give up and curse herself for doing it. It wasn't really her fault. That eyes seemed to be hunting her, following her steps, invading her mind. _You and me. It's real_. Those words ecoed in her head while she was lying on the bed, gazing at the drawer where she kept the origami birds. Was all of this true?

She couldn't tell. Sara was not ready to start wondering about it. She just wanted to feel. It was almost unbelievable, but she could feel his presence and while in the dark of her room, examining the shadows on the window, she would taste his lips on her mouth, going over and over that morning when he had kissed her in the infirmary. It was agonizing. And it was making her mad. However, it would last only for the night. During the day, Sara had to keep going. She had promised to herself she wouldn't be waiting and hoping and thinking about him. It hurt way too much.

So on that night nothing was different. Sara was half asleep in her bed. Suddenly, she opened her eyes and sat down. There was a sound in the kitchen and she heard her cat Jack. Maybe he was claiming for food or water again. She quickly got up and left her room, but didn't make it to the kitchen. Standing in the middle of her living room, with scared eyes and a white shirt filled with blood, there was Lincoln.


	2. Worried

Sara was speachless. She had to be dreaming, this couldn't possibly be happening. Lincoln, the man who was being hunted by half of the country, the man who had escaped from a maximum security prison with another seven inmates, the man who was the brother of Sara's best dreams and worst nightmares was right in front of her. He seemed so... awful and exhausted. His clothes and his sad look told Sara that they weren't exactly having a good time. She was definitely scared. Not that she thought Lincoln could hurt her or something, she knew he was innocent, but hell, she was scared. She didn't know what he was doing there. She was scared of what was coming. And she was scared because his eyes were terrified and something in her knew that this had to do with Michael.

They stared at each other for what seemed to be decades, when he decided to start.

"Doc...", he finally said, and his voice sounded strange to Sara's ears. Something was _very_ wrong. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have enter your house like this, but...", he stopped, maybe waiting for her to say anything, maybe to be sure that she was listening. But she remained quiet, in shock.

"It's Michael", Lincoln said.

"What happened to him?", she asked quickly, just to realize that she was more worried and desperate than she wanted to be. Than she needed to be. She was supposed to be forgetting about him and this reaction wasn't definitely helping on the letting go process.

"He was shot. By the feds. We were almost caught".

Shot? Michael Scofield had been shot. The information hit her as if she was the one who had a bullet in her body. He had been shot. He was in danger now, she knew it, she could guess. Lincoln would never go to her house in the middle of the night if it wasn't serious. Michael could be dying in that very moment. Sara felt the cold sweat on her hands, her legs were almost giving up and she felt a little dizzy.

"Where?", she asked.

"On his stomach. He's really bad, doc. I wouldn't come after you if...", he started but was interrupted by Sara. "Where is he now?", she asked firmly. She knew she had to do something so she was now forgetting the hurt, the angry, the feeling of being used by him in his plan. She had to maintain control, because he needed her more than ever. Sara couldn't ignore that she had feelings for him. She cared about him, even after everything that he had caused to her. She hated herself for it and she was certain that she would regret this later, but now she was worried. Really worried.

Michael couldn't open his eyes. He had tried a few minutes ago and all he had succeeded to get was a headache. His whole body was aching like hell, but he couldn't remember why. He wasn't thinking straight. All the images on his mind were confused, a mix of childhood memories, old nightmares, his brother, Fox River and... Sara. She was there too. _Oh Michael, we all know nice girls finish last._ Her voice was sweet and so was her smile. He felt again her lips on his, while remembering their kiss. God, she was perfect. But he didn't know why these memories where making the pain inside his head grow. Then, he suddenly figured it out. _Cups found your girlfriend. Fishbelly white gargling in her own puke_. The image of Sara lying unconcious on the floor filled his mind. Her face was sad and pale, her eyes closed, a white liquid was coming out of her mouth. Michael tried to scream, but his voice didn't come out. Then he heard a noise and suddenly he saw her. It wasn't a dream, was it? She was right there, staring at him.


	3. Scared

Sara and Lincoln had driven for almost half an hour to get to the place where Michael was. It was some kind of shack next to a sideway road out of Chicago, far from anything. She was sure that they would have taken much more time to get there if Lincoln wasn't going so fast. The high speed only made her more desperate. She could sense his fear, it was all over him: the tensed shoulders, the eyes that never let the road ahead, the silence. That freaky silence between them was the thing that was scaring her most. She knew Lincoln wasn't exactly a talker, he was once her patient, she remembered. He was not like his brother, who would only shut up when it was his time to aswer questions...

"Can you help him?", he asked abruptedly, taking her away from her own thoughts. And she was astonished to find out that she didn't know the aswer to that question. She had forgotten to ask herself that. She faced the window and realized it was now beginning to rain. Was it a bad or a good sign? Sara breathed heavily. Bad sign. She remembered a night when it was raining in Chicago, about fifteen years ago, whe she was fourteen and couldn't sleep because of the thunderstorms. She lived on a big house and her bedroom was on the third floor. She hated the third floor. Her dad was travelling. Her mom was probably drinking on her bedroom. As always. The storm got worse and Sara got up, wanting to be with her mom, even if she was drunk. She reached her parents' bedroom to find no one, then she just headed to the bathroom and opened the door. There she was: lying on the floor, empty eyes, blood. She was dead by the time the ambulance got there. And Sara didn't do a damn thing. Sara couldn't help her mom. Could she help Michael?

"I hope so". And she really did.

The shack was small and dirty, like it hadn't been used for many years. Sara wondered how they had discovered it, but it was a question that could wait. Lincoln quickly entered the shack and she followed him. The candle was all that they had to light up the place, so Sara couldn't see much when she first stepped in the room. But then she saw him. On a couch, half conscious, white face, trembling, covered with a blanket. He was saying words in a low tune that neither Sara or Lincoln could understand. She standed still, staring at him, suddenly paralized and feeling like the floor wasn't there anymore. He didn't look good at all. After a few seconds, his eyes found her and he stopped muttering to look at her. Michael seemed another person. Now he wasn't that Michael who had all the solutions, who could think of a plan to break out and save his brother. He wasn't that misterious Michael who had the answers but had to wait to give them. There was no grin on his lips, no light in his eyes. He was confused and scared and vulnerable. And this sight of him scared her. A lot.

Sara hadn't move yet. Lincoln was bringing her some bottles of water that he thought would be useful. He hadn't looked at his brother, maybe because he didn't want to take the risk to find him almost giving up. Because he wasn't giving up.

"Sara..." Michael was able to whisper, realizing that his throat was really sore. But he had to talk to her, to explain everything to her. She was there, really there. Seeing her had helped him to organize his thoughts and now his mind was clear. He remembered the escape, the plan, he remembered using her and then the disappointed look on her eyes when she asked him if all of that had been an act. He remembered listening Bellick describing that awful scene. He remembered that it was all his fault. And he remembered he couldn't lose her. Michael had been dreaming about this moment ever since he had escaped from Fox River and now he had the chance he wouldn't waste it. He didn't know what was going on with him, but the thing he knew well was that he wasn't going to die before he could tell her that the way he felt about her was never a lie. It was real. But Sara didn't move closer, neither speak. Michael was suddenly afraid that she was only there to say goodbye, to say that he had manipulated and used her and that she never wanted to see him again.

"Sara, I want to explain every...", he started, but Sara seemed to sense what he was thinking, because she then approached him quickly and put her hand on his forehead, caressing him. The simply touch of her smooth skin made him feel better.

"Shh, no words now Michael." she said, tears filling her eyes. She fought them. Her voice was calm and so... medical. She was trying her best to hide her feelings and emotions and fears. She had to be strong now. For both of them. But hell, she was scared of losing him.

He was breathing hard and finding very almost impossible to keep his eyes opened. It seemed that everything was moving violently around him and he started shaking again. _Why it is so fucking cold in here?_ He felt as thought his skin was burning and freezing at the same time, it was so like dying. _So this is it? Am I going to die this night? Am I leaving this thing after all the blood I put on this? _He wasn't someone who got scared easily. Lincoln used to say that he had no blood on his veins, because he never lost control, no matter what the situation was. Michael was brave. He had robbed a bank, he had been thrown into prison, he had dealt with men that had murdered people for very little. And yet he wasn't scared that time. But now... now he truly was. Terrified. Terrified of losing the things he wanted. A normal life. His family happy and safe. Fishing with Lincoln and LJ. And Sara. He had so many plans for them. He couldn't help but imagine what would be like to start something with her. To have a family with her. They had kissed only once, but he knew if he was going to go somewhere with someone, that would be her.

And she was there, it wasn't a dream. She had asked Lincoln to bring her something. She was moving fast, uncovering him and her hands on his body were the thing that was giving him hope. Michael saw Lincoln get next to the couch, looking at him. He was saying something to Sara but Michael couldn't hear it. Suddenly he felt dizzy and closed his eyes. Everything went dark.

Sara knelt on the side of the couch and uncovered Michael, letting the old blanket on the floor. His white T-shirt was pressed against his stomach. Apparently it was Lincoln's only attempt to make the bleed stop and it obviously hadn't worked very well, because the shirt was already soaked with red blood.

"Lincoln, my bag". She hadn't forgotten to bring the things she thought she could need to treat him. In a hurry, she had put everything in a bag before going with Lincoln. But she wasn't prepared for this. The sight of his bleeding wound right on the left side of his waist was making her really nervous. The bullet was there, and her medical knowledge was telling her that she had to remove it. It was the correct procedure, she knew it. But God, they were in a goddamn shack, it wasn't a surgery room. There was a huge possibility of infection. Sara had to think fast and make a decision. There were very few options.

"Here it is. And some water too". Lincoln handed her bag and bottles of water.

"Thanks."

"What do you need me to do?" he asked obviously very concerned.

"It's fine. I'll ask if I need something."

She used a wet fabricto start cleaning the wound. Michael tensed at the touch and she saw his face tighten with pain. She stopped for a moment, not wanting to hurt him. But this needed to be done, so she kept going. Lincoln was standing there, wanting to do something.

"Sara." Lincoln said, alarmed. She looked to Michael and saw that he had passed out.


	4. Strong

"Michael! Michael!" she called him, sitting on the couch, next to him.

"Michael..." she repeated, slapping his face lightly, trying to wake him up. He seemed exhausted and she was sorry she couldn't just let him get some rest there and forget about the pain. But it would be too dangerous for him, he had lost a lot of blood and shouldn't sleep before everything was under control. He opened his eyes with difficulty, confused, blinking as though he was trying to see clearly.

"Hey... I need you to stay awake, ok?" Sara said, in a low voice. He blinked twice and closed his eyes again.

"No no no no", she called his attention one more time, turning his head carefully, hands still on his face. He was now looking at her. She suddenly felt a little flushed, as that well-known feeling overwhelmed her. Why those eyes had to be piercing her again? What had she done to deserve such a torture? She couldn't help but remember their times in the infirmary in Fox River. She would feel her legs weaken with that gaze. And that laugh. Michael Scofield's laugh. So playfull and...boyish. God, she loved it so much. She was now wondering if she would ever hear him laughing again. But maybe it didn't matter after all, because she was not sure that laugh wasn't a part of his plan, of his act. Fake, just like the rest. It was then that Sara realized that he was already awake and she hadn't removed her hands from his face. _I'm probably going mad_.

"You can't sleep now, all right? It's just for now. I promise I won't take long".

Then she removed the hands, totally ignoring her heart, which was screaming to her to do the opposite and just stay there caressing his face and telling him that everything would be fine. For now, Sara was going to listen to her mind only: she was well aware that it was far clever than her heart. At least her mind would never tell her to let a door open so eight inmates could break out from a prison. Yes, definitely, her heart had better shut up.

Sara was speaking to him, he knew. And he was trying with all his strength to listen whatever she wanted to tell him, but his body wasn't helping and her words were all mixed up. _I don't like getting attached to things if I know they won't last. _No, she wasn't saying this. She had said it before, back in Fox River.

_I went to Northwestern. Graduated two years after you did. Ok, you're going to feel my fingers on your wrist. So I get flowers instead. It's just that out of that twenty-nine birthdays my father has actually managed to see me in precisely six of them. _Images of Sara flashed through his mind, and he couldn't differ the real Sara from the memories.

_Thank you for trying to make me smile. But not today. _He sighed, relieved. He wasn't still hearing her voice, but now she was there, in front of him. It wasn't a memory.

He kept eye contact with her, thinking that maybe it could make him understand what she wanted him to do. But after the first moments, he got lost on that chocolate eyes that were staring at him with a little bit of fear, a little bit of shock, a little bit of confusion and a little bit of something else that although Michael couldn't figure out what was, he somehow liked. He wanted so much to talk to her, but his mouth was dry, and he didn't want to risk losing the touch of her hands that were resting on his face. Maybe he could just sleep like this... he shut his eyes, but Sara's voice brought him back to consciousness. She didn't want him to sleep, he concluded. Once more Michael tried to speak, to show her he had understood and to ask her not to take her hands from him, and once more he failed, feeling the words dying inside his throat. When she removed her hands, that cold strange feeling took hold of him again and he felt dizzy. To get things worse, he was starting to feel an almost unbearable pain somewhere on his stomach.

"It's dangerous for him to sleep now", she told Lincoln, trying to avoid letting him have a moment to think about what her hands were doing on his brother's face a little longer that they should, only a minute ago. But she knew he was wondering. And she knew he knew the answer to this question. Lincoln wasn't stupid. And even if he was, there was no way he wouldn't figure out why on earth the Governor Tancredi's addicted daughter would leave her cozy apartment in the middle of the night in order to help two escaped convicts that had used her in order to break out from a damn prison. Yes, he knew. But yet he didn't bring it up and she was grateful for it.

"Do you need more water?" he asked, but the question was left unanswered. Sara was now fully concentrated on Michael's wound. Lincoln didn't want to interrupt, so he just stayed there, observing. After a few minutes, she stopped and sighed, resting her full of blood hand on her forehead.

"I've got to take the bullet out." she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I've got to take it out. Now." She knew this would have to happen since she had listened to Lincoln explaining where the bullet was. Sara wasn't looking at him but could guess that he was pretty scared.

"Are you sure? I mean... we can't do this. Look where we are." He was obviously desperated. He lowered his voice so that Michael wouldn't be able to hear them: "He's not going to resist".

She sighed once more, closing her eyes and thinking fast. After a few seconds, she looked at Michael and saw that Lincoln was doing the same thing. They both stared at that tattooed man who who was now facing the ceiling, sweating and trembling, unaware of what was going on around him. His face was paler than ever and his lips were now getting purple.

"An analgesic" said Lincoln.

"What?"

"An analgesic. I have some here. You'll need them to... take the bullet out." he told her, maybe realizing that his brother had only one chance and that being a doctor, Sara probably knew what had to be done. She was relieved that he trusted her enough to let her do it.

"Ok"

He quickly reached a drawer in the closet that was near the couch and took something from it. The room was becoming darker because the candle was almost all gone, but Sara could see it in Lincoln's hands: a syringe and a small bottle with a colourless liquid like water. _Morphyne_. She could smell it in the air. _Hell, what a night_, she thought, almost smiling to herself. _How come they have Morphyne stocked in the closet? _That was another question to add to the list of Michael's mysteries. Lincoln gave her the syringe and she started preparing it, in silence, trying not to think about what had happened just a few days before. _Come on, Sara, you can do it. You're fine. You don't need it. Not anymore. _

Sara was not sure that Lincoln knew she had overdosed, but if Michael knew, he probably did too. There was a chance that they didn't know it had been on morphyne and she was silently praying that this was the case, because the last thing she wanted now was Lincoln imagining things. She wasn't using it and she would rather prefer not having to be next to it, but now she had to be strong for Michael.

Michael opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids were so heavy, it seemed he had been sleeping for decades. He wondered where he was. The last thing he remembered was running from the police with Lincoln... going faster than his legs could just to look back and realize that the cops were still only a few meters behind. He remembered suddenly seeing a cop in front of him, yelling, telling him to stop. He obviously didn't. And then that odd feeling... as though there was something inside his body that shouldn't be there. The sharp pain invaded him like a poison. Lincoln jumped on the cop and fought, leaving him unconscious on the ground. Then he carried Michael and they both hid in the woods for hours. After that, everything was pretty unclear in his mind. He remembered being on the passengers sit, while Lincoln was driving somewhere. And then, waiting alone in a small and dark room. And then... her. This particular memory surprised him: firstly, because he was sure it hadn't been a dream. Secondly, because he had just moved his eyes from the ceiling and they had found an amount of auburn hair resting on his chest. And he already knew the owner of that redhead sleeping so next to him. Yet, Michael closed his eyes and opened them again, in disbelief. Sara was asleep, sitting umconfortably on the floor, the left side of her back against the couch, her hand lightly grabbing his arm. Her head wasn't touching him, but her hair was spread all over his chest and he could smell her shampoo. Strawberries. He smiled. She cared about him, or she wouldn't be there. And that made him believe there was still a chance for them. Seeing how tired Sara looked, Michael immediately thought he should make her more comfortable. When he tried to get up in order to bring her to the couch, the pain started again and he realized he wasn't supposed to move. However, his attempt was enough to wake her up: he saw the sudden movement of her head and she opened her eyes...


End file.
